I ruin everything,Everything.I come on to strong;I hate how being so excitedComes off as so wrong.

“I wanna see you tomorrow”“how about the day after that?”I just fell ******* hardAnd I don’t think she’ll be back.I blame myself, fully consumed… By feelings of hope, happinessUntil put the joint down, And get hammered by noon.

I’m mentally ill I don’t think it should define meI just need a chance…Close my eyes and color your life,Blindly.I’ll get too attached, I hate it.I mean, honestly who wants to bother?How the **** do I calm myself?And why the **** am I sober?

If she sticks around, I could be great;Honest.Support, cherish and love,My issues aside, Those are what I can promise.

She hit him.It was the only first time, no big deal he thoughtTrained fighter, making money each time he foughtHe boxed, and he boxed.. It’s how he coped with the stressHe gave it up because he truly thought she was the bestShe bought matching Tshirts, hid letters for him! A gift from aboveUntil the mind games started, when she realized that this boy was in loveShe’d call him on lunches, and he answered – no hesitationWorking the graveyard shift till 6, bed at 11, boy! He was patient

“I don’t like being alone, so talk to me or someone else will”

He sighed.“I’ll gladly answer your call”, he lied.He wasn’t glad, he was scared, he’s seen she could do betterBecause of that time, she left to see another man..Her cutest underwear, a choker – and his sweater.It’s whatever, he tells himself. His friends say his heart is gold“that hickey was from you!” One of the many lies that she told.He knew. He wasn’t stupid, he’s seen it all beforeBut he was once a cheater, in his mind this just evens the score

This one was so different. His passion was fireHe had no idea of the outcome … when he finally called her a liar

She hit him. This was the second time, he doesn’t realize what’s coming “I’ll have a new man tomorrow, while you’re stuck alone” she’s cunning. He’s afraid of her leaving, and between the calls and the stress he can’t restHis friends saying to drop her, she’s abusive, he knows it’s what’s bestBut he can’t. He doesn’t give up on people; plus at this point he’s defeatedThe next fight she sends him another guys picture (naked) … she cheatedShe cried and she pleaded, he was finally ready to leave Until she pulled him by his sleeve and begged “listen to me!”He gave in as usual, he said sorry then laughed “I can be better” he wipes a tear and he tells his friends it’s alrightBecause he knows she’ll be in bed beside him at the end of the night.

She hit him. Third times a charm, and the harm has been doneThis time he’s crying, he’s shaking, he just wants to runHe won’t fight, he won’t yell; the pain is his for the taking She wants a reaction so bad“I didn’t even want this relationship, I’ve been faking! “At this point he leave because he can’t take it; he goes into work His phone goes off to a text “we’re done I’m not coming back, ****! “

At this point he’s blocked, he arrives home and her stuffs goneHe reaches for his pill bottle, but this time he’s got none..This stories about me, how my depression came to beI won’t play the victim card, she was abusive, I could seeSo here’s a poem that my therapist suggested … And my next poem will finish the story.

Honestly, just wanted to write something simple, and vent. I don't expect anyone to think that this is good.

I just wanted to love someoneso much -That I never learned to like anyone

She was dangerously closelike a molotovto a dream. The crease in her smileFrom when she carried it closedOr maybe from whenThe one that last carried it for her.

There's a thorn in her paw; That is a crucifix in her theart and keeps her nailed to the pain.It's a cross between the love she has for everyonebut herself, and the hatred for me.And I like it. All of it.

Still though, I dream that she's in my bedlooking sweete than her taste for revenge,it's 5 PM and she isn't wearing muchbut she's in my bed, saying the thingsthat I need to hear, which is just about anything at this point.

It's 8:30 pm, and I get my wake up call and out the door I go, in my headphones gothe first thing I hear is Ed Sheeran I hate that I enjoy his voicebecause he's always ******* rightand he tells me "baby you look happier, you do" well ****. "my friends told me, one day I'll feel it too" and now I need a shot because ****. I really was happier with her.

7:15 in the morningDon Quixote sits against my wall I can't really hear his voicebut he says that it ain't rightto fight a windmill and lose.

and then he tells meit ain't right for me and herto be all we've ever been.

All I make is mistakes I see them too, but it's always too late. It's all I know how to do. I know there's something wrong, hence why I'm drunk when I write.Sometimes I couldn't blink or take a breath during those conversations.

There's so much I'm uncertain about ...so many questionsI'll never ask, againI used to ask a lot, for someone.not anymore.not since i couldn't explainwhat I couldn't explore.but that thorn is still in her paw.I wish I could've removed it.

AlexSat in her moms carThe pillow at the head of my bedHad a note "Be back in twenty"

So I waitedAnd we talked -

I didn't know, My girlfriend hated me so much.

"The glass is always half full" .. were my words.. ... and for seven months she smiled Wishing in her mind, that I'd end it all .. not the relationship, that is. "Just ******* **** yourself" ... And the glass smashed, right after that.

Alex was never half again.

The rough skin, didn't hide her beauty The recently dyed, golden blonde hair Eyes that captured the waves of the beachCrystal clear, like the best of a summer day.

Why can’t you text her 37 times?In the last hourHell, add a couple of calls in betweenKnowing that your numbers been blockedAnd she’ll never see a single thingYou’re saying. They’re wasted words.Feel good yet, loser?****.

Why can’t you check if she’s online?On that stupid dating website,Every few minutes.Trying to figure out the exact moment,She used it less, and put the pieces togetherThat she’s met someone else.****.

Why can’t you find that guy?That she wouldn’t stop talking about,Throughout your whole relationship,And bash his ******* skull in,With the sharpest edge of the rockThat you seen, while skipping them,At that park…You know the one with pond?When you got ice cream and told her,This was the happiest you’ve been in years.You were just reminded of that dayWeren’t you?****.

Why can’t you let go?Accept that it’s over, like she told you to,Months ago while she hung around,Just to keep you happy.Even though,She was always one step ahead…Sadly, that foot was out the door.****!

Why can’t you move on?You’re probably crying again as you read this.It’s only the fifth breakdown today,You’re adjusting to the feeling now right?Maybe the next girl you blow it with will be the one!There’s a cheerful thought.But you’ll be too busy thinking about the last,And you’ll **** it up,Just like you’ve done, with everyone else sinceThat day she packed up and moved out.Because nobody but her, can make you feel,How she felt, along with those stupid 2pm calls,When she was on break at workSo what if they woke you up?That Is what kept you going, becauseHer voice was music to your earsWhen the rest of the world was nothing but noise.****!

After the realization hits that she was the one,And you’ll never do better.That You’re just a mentally ill, ex to her..The one that she tells to every guy she meets,How you would call 37 times in a row,16 missed calls in the morning,And a dozen emails you wrote duringThose key moments,When everything was falling apart.And because she wouldn’t reply once....You put the *** in harrassment...

Valentines Day, is the lastTime I wroteAnd that I’ve been honest.That’s to sayI haven’t written in a long timeMonths, infact. Don’t get me wrongI’ve screamedI’ve yelledI’ve given the fingerBut I haven’t truly been honestJust let everything ooze out as it willClose my eyesRest my fingers on a keyboardAnd write.

That’s a problemBecause one day I'll stop writing.And those emotions will seepInto my real life.

**** it allThis takes up my timeAnd I hate it.I hate having to sit down and write this **** out.It’s much easier to scream at peopleAs they walk byThey walk away fasterAnd I get to release a little bit of angerBut this is where I can form my thoughtsI can grasp at straws to try to explain myself

*******-By the way, those are my thoughts*******-That’s what I think of all the people reading thisYou don’t get itI don’t know what you’re going through myselfBut you **** sure should not comfort me and say I understand what you’re feelingYou don’tBecause when I express myselfYou claim I'm the bad guy.

As I ramble on, I start to allow myself releaseIt’s like when you don’t ******* for a month straightFunny thing about that is most guys can’t pull it offAnd most girls probably don’t understand the release I’m talking aboutEither sexually or emotionallyYou cry to ******* often

Funny to think these words mean ****No one of importance is going to see themAnd if she did for some reasonShe don’t have a clue what I’m actually sayingAnd if she does… this is for her specifically*******

Meanwhile I’m supposed to stay in lineBe the "better man"And if I try to break out I’m told"you're better than this""what about your reputation"

People sob over suicidesPeople cry over death"they're mentally ill" You put them in a ******* hospital for crazy peopleIt’s okay to call them crazyMost of the time they don’t mindBecause you had the ******* *****To say something honest to themInstead of acting as though they’re the same as youThey are ******* differentAnd that’s what makes them a person you *******

So go ahead, don't ******* me. It has nothing to do with fearDon't pretend I should be the better man, or that I'm justAsking for attention and help. Just ******* say I'm crazy

The tortured artists all come to the same conclusionThat nothing they can do mattersDeath leads either to heaven, hell, or nothingIf nothing, then there is nothing left to bearHell can’t be worse than thisThe devil will at least tell you why you’re thereImagine that? ******* closure.

If you read through all thisI wasted your timeBut I’m not sorryYou want the meaning of life?Go **** yourselfFastest way to find out**** it, watch me do it.

All the nights of unpleasantrieswill no longer keep me awake.I will never again dreamof you by mistake.

I wish that you would die.A freak accident leaves you paralyzedmaybe a piano from the windowThat lives in the blue of my eyes.Or maybe that "random" passing carwill clip you in the thighAnd you'd be left (like me)alone; just to die.

You could paint the town redwith your angry tonguebut instead maybe if i cut it outyou'll finally listen instead.

In laymens terms, prepare to be hurt,I'll smile as your body lies in the dirt.And blood seeps into your shirt,coloring the earth.Your purpose has been confirmed.